


Eclipse

by jungleo



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Image, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Jung Taekwoon | Leo-centric, M/M, No Dialogue, POV Third Person, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Weight Issues, non!au, non-Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungleo/pseuds/jungleo
Summary: The walls thundered, the windows rattled, and Taekwoon shattered.Dedicated to myMarie.Recommendedlisten.





	Eclipse

It had just been a matter of time. With every choked breath, held back behind gritted teeth and a locked jaw, Taekwoon felt himself slipping. His bones rattled underneath his emaciated flesh as he moved his body into every which way, shape or form that was required of him at any given moment. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his jugular notch, his collarbones leading to a pair of tensed shoulders as he thrust his arms out blindly, legs moving to follow the rhythm that put such a strain on the already exhausted body. Blinking his damp eyes, the lead singer moved robotically, muscle memory pushing him forward. Taekwoon’s shoulders remained tense even when the choreographer indicated a break and Hakyeon pushed a half empty water bottle into his shaking hands. Wet hair fell into exhausted, feline eyes which darted around sharply as Taekwoon took in the varying states of his members. Jaehwan’s scowl was more defined than Taekwoon ever remembered it being halfway through practice, Wonshik moved to a corner where he dropped against the wall-length mirror, Sanghyuk had already planted his butt firmly on the ground – an eerily blank look in his eyes. Only the slight twitching of his right leg betrayed his discomfort. One glance at Hakyeon told Taekwoon more than he needed to know, and he fought the wince in reaction to the lived lifelines that were etched dramatically into his best friend’s face. Taekwoon refused to look at Hongbin.

Taekwoon swallowed his protests. He squashed the anguish he felt and the ache that was burning in his chest, rising up his throat and threatening to spill word acid. He remained silent, as he often was. This was what they made of him. This was what was made of them. They used to be bright, like light – _so_ bright. Full of strong ambition, surging passion and a willingness to reach out and grasp their musical dream with both hands, doing whatever it took to take those difficult steps towards an unknown but wanted future. Full of hope with a small dose of naivety – a purity that was readily welcomed by the very same people who were already scheming on how to twist and beat it out of them. Beacons, that’s what they were. Beacons of light for each other, to each other. But their lights were dimming; had been dimming for a long time now. What remained was barely an illuminated shell, its core so hollow nothing was present but darkness. That’s how Taekwoon felt on most bleak days. On good days, he thought he could still see the flicker of light, fighting to reignite that passion in his gut. It was that little fire that urged him forward, to lift his still trembling hand to tip the water bottle against starved, chapped lips. It was what had them all stir into motion, throwing now-empty water bottles on top of discarded hoodies before moving back into familiar positions, falling into steps that were long since memorised by heart – once again pushing to be the very best. Because in this industry where artists were produced like cans in factories, nothing less than the best was accepted.

So, Taekwoon ignored the pain in his knees. Ignored the way his muscles screamed in overexertion as he gazed straight into the mirror – piercing dark eyes showing nothing but careful restraint. That same gaze looked back at him when the members were gone and all he could hear above the music was his own laboured breath. His knees still screamed, as did his mind which hadn’t been silent for days. A screeching sound which sounded very much like his own voice plagued the deep recesses of his mind and Taekwoon couldn’t think past the choreography that had been viciously imprinted in his brain. That his toes had started bleeding and his knees had started popping didn’t even register, nor did the playful banter of his background dancers during the very short breaks that he allowed himself as he practised to perfection. When he was told his solo was upcoming, Taekwoon had felt his quiet heart beat a little faster, and for a fleeting moment, he’d felt the excitement – experienced the warmth of the flame that burned deep within that reminded him of his passion for music. It was a shame he had to be reminded, but that was a thought Taekwoon rarely allowed himself nowadays. The fire had been quickly extinguished when the rules, the _demands_ , were once again placed upon his already frail person. Food wasn’t something he tasted anymore. When day turned to night and night moved on to the early hours of the morning, Taekwoon’s body finally stopped moving. When he turned around to wish the dancers a good night, his perfected teeth were a long blinding row of white against thin cheeks. The twinkle of a smile never reached his eyes.

Sitting in the dressing room, feeling numerous pairs of hands fix his face and hair had become such a normality that the plucking, powdering and tugging no longer made him wince, or flinch. Staring blankly ahead, Taekwoon watched the transformation from tired, sunken eyes in a greying face to strong, black-dusted ones surrounded by healthy-looking skin. Taekwoon was amazed at how much make-up could cover. It was astonishing to witness the lengths one could go to cover up truth with a fake mask. A sharp tug at his scalp had Taekwoon’s head tip back just a little, the whirring sounds of hair dryers and curlers mere dull background noise as VIXX’s vocalist retreated into himself. He faintly remarked his pink fringe falling listlessly into his heavily made-up eyes. His hair had lost the vibrant shine years ago. Another result of a flighty dream he should mourn, but didn’t. He couldn’t. There were sacrifices to be made in the pursuit of happiness. Though Taekwoon could no longer define what happiness was.

Lights were blinding him. Smog was making it difficult for him to breathe and the loud screams of fans nearly deafened him. But his plump lips curved into a seductive smile, his voice was clearer than ever and his fierce eyes looked out onto the mass of mostly female bodies as his dulcet tones carried words of love across the navy-blue ocean. The fans were accepting of whatever was happening on stage, guileless in their attention. He was their sun, moon and stars. The image he showed them was one of truth as they swung the glittering light sticks to the beat. To them and their devoted minds, Taekwoon – _Leo_ – was perfection. A lie. Confident hands grasped the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting the fabric to reveal the abs underneath. They had been calling for it. All the while, a smirk had blossomed on Taekwoon’s face. Inside, Taekwoon felt queasy. Hands suddenly grasped onto sweat-slicked skin, and Taekwoon forced the flash of surprise off his face. It was a momentous event, amplifying the screams to horny screeches. The singer plastered on a smile, self-consciously aware of the manner in which foreign, calloused fingers slid across his skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Inside his mind was chaos and Taekwoon’s heart burned, his nerves twisting inside. Insecurity was masked, banished off the stage. Taekwoon gave as good as he got, and the dancer turned away sheepishly when the singer emptied a bottle of water down the guy’s shirt. Taekwoon’s laugh was full, and he vaguely wondered when he’d become such an excellent pretender.

Taekwoon loved Hongbin’s smile. It was bright, but in a non-blinding way. It never failed to warm his gut and instil hope inside his frozen heart. When Hongbin laughed, the sound was rich and youthful, and so incredibly infectious that the older male allowed a gentle smile of his own to lift the corners of his usually down-curved lips. Sometimes, Taekwoon would sneak peaks at the younger man when he knew Hongbin would not be looking. His gaze would ghost over the crinkling corners of Hongbin’s eyes as the other squinted at the screen in concentration, down to his cute button nose, towards wide-stretched lips that would be moving incessantly as Hongbin instructed Sanghyuk on a crucial point in the game. Hands were curled around controllers, fingers moving fast and muscles taut. Every now and then a flicker of annoyance would dull the light of excitement in Hongbin’s eyes as a hand impatiently brushed at his fringe. It had become too long, Taekwoon noted silently. But it would still be some days until their manager decided it was time to give Hongbin another haircut. Hongbin wasn’t a member to whom a lot of attention was paid, generally. The instant surge of anger surprised Taekwoon, and his breathing quickened until the fiery emotion grew faint. Taekwoon averted his gaze.

Then, the time came when Hongbin’s smile was no longer cheerful. It stretched his lips, painfully so when Taekwoon realised it was more a grimace than an expression of elation. The dimple Hongbin was so well-known for showed itself, sharply set into Hongbin’s cheeks. Alarmed, Taekwoon started watching Hongbin like a hawk. Always a silent presence. The others hadn’t noticed yet, how Hongbin sighed more than he did before, that his smiles stopped lighting up his eyes and that every move he made was a cautious one, calculated as if he’d expected to be reprimanded for it. Taekwoon startled when he recognised how alike himself Lee Hongbin had become. He hadn’t noticed, despite his ever-watchful eye. Adrenaline kick-started his heart, bitter blood rushed through his veins and panic settled into his bones. _Something was wrong_. Hongbin deleted photos from his Instagram, and refused to touch Twitter. The controller was left on top of the TV screen and Sanghyuk had started to complain about being bored. The youngest member’s own frustrations reaching a high point when Hakyeon started coming home too exhausted to share affectionate hugs and comforting words. Jaehwan and Sanghyuk fought daily.

Wonshik called him. An hour before his flight back from Japan to Korea, the equally quiet man merely notified Taekwoon of the recent celebrity news. Lee Hongbin’s face stuck on media pages, receiving hate from those who claimed to support him – support _them_. The situation escalated. Hongbin apologised, and Taekwoon’s blood boiled. When Taekwoon arrived home, the door clicked softly shut. Stone-faced, he kicked off his shoes and entered the apartment. His ears were buzzing, but his vision sharp as he locked them on destination – his room. The members threw Taekwoon worried glances when he passed them by as if they were absent. From a corner, sad eyes watched the main vocalist enter the room and close the door. Silence reigned for as long as the living room clock’s second hand could strike four times. Jung Taekwoon snapped.

He lunged for the duvet on his bed first, spread fingers digging deep into the soft material before he ripped it from the sheets with a yell. The soft quilt hit the bookcase to Taekwoon’s left before fluttering to the floor. A picture frame that was hit tumbled off the shelf, the sound of glass breaking setting Taekwoon off as he suddenly screamed. The sound almost inhuman, breaking in the middle as Taekwoon engaged in the impulsive destruction of his room. He broke. Throwing himself onto his desk, Taekwoon swiped at the content. More picture frames fell to ruin, then note books, music sheets, a bobbing head dog. With a roar, Taekwoon pushed the lamp off the wooden surface – the light bulb shattering into little pieces. Swiftly turning around, the heartbroken man tore through sheets and bedding, uncaring about the small feathers that fluttered to the floor, which was rapidly filling with broken objects. Taekwoon kept screaming, his lungs an endless capacity of air that burst out in violent echoes of sorrow. He couldn’t go on. Taekwoon couldn’t do it anymore. His body was numb, and his emotions too heightened for him to control. A fist connected with a wardrobe, the large wooden door cracking in the middle while the handle splintered. Taekwoon saw red. His vision hazy. A kick to the book case sent books and CDs tumbling. He shattered. Fingers tore at the wallpaper, nails breaking and skin tearing. Downy pillows were flung at the windows. Taekwoon’s feet started bleeding, warm liquid soaking the grey cotton socks from where he had stepped into shards of glass. Nimble fingers grasped a chair, while strong hands lifted and flung it into the standalone mirror. The legs broke, the mirror cracked and Taekwoon gazed upon his wild reflection.

He crumbled.

Amidst the chaos, Taekwoon fell to his knees. His kneecaps creaked, the knuckles of his hands grazed the spines of CDs and scattered clutter as he dropped them, letting his arms hang loose next to his defeated frame. His strength left him. The palms of his hands tingled from the abuse. His throat felt sore from screaming. Taekwoon’s breath came in short, shuddering gasps while his heart was still pumping his life’s blood viciously through widened veins in a rush of adrenaline that had not completely poured out yet. He felt his heart beat harshly against his bruised rib cage. The rage which he’d felt was still simmering deep within his gut but it had been greatly reduced from the fearless fiery dragon, coiling tightly around his soul and hungry for destruction, to a small serpent filled with helpless anger, not completely satisfied. _Never_ satisfied.

But Taekwoon knew acting out was useless; had been pointless. It would not better his situation, their situation. Taekwoon knew this logically, and still his fingers twitched to destroy, his roughened voice itched to scream once more and his nails dug and scratched the carpet below his prone form, seeking to tear the threads that symbolically tied him to a life he no longer wanted. The gratification he briefly felt from demolishing his room and breaking everything within reach was slowly seeping from tired bones and weak flesh. Tears pooled in hooded eyes, blurring his vision. This time Taekwoon did not hold back the choked breath that escaped his pained throat. As his cheeks became wet, Taekwoon let out a quiet wail. The sound heart-wrenching in its quiet desperation. For once in his life, he felt utterly lost.

The gentle creak of a door opening fell on deaf ears. Footsteps padding softly towards Taekwoon, through the mess he’d made, wasn’t noticed. A hand lightly slid into the mop of hair on the melancholic man’s head. Taekwoon whimpered. Calloused fingers gently brushed through soft hair, trekking down to brush against tear-stained cheeks before grasping onto a quivering chin. When Taekwoon lifted his gaze, he found that of Hongbin. Hidden in wide-open brown eyes was a deeply rooted concern, worry for his fellow member. But Taekwoon was more acutely aware of the softness with which Hongbin looked at him – the kind of look that was only reserved for the vocalist. It was the first time he’d looked at Hongbin in a long time. Seeing the deterioration of a special loved one was the hardest thing to witness. It was unbearable. Hongbin hadn’t been made privy to Taekwoon’s innermost thoughts for weeks. Guilt slowly crept up Taekwoon’s chest, constricting his heart and making it bleed. Taekwoon choked. Hongbin watched. Arms snaked around Hongbin’s waist as Taekwoon buried his face in the other’s stomach, inhaling the scent that was so distinctly Hongbin. Hongbin’s own hands slid from Taekwoon’s face down to his shoulders before Taekwoon found himself embraced tightly. 

Their dream was no longer theirs. Working through the days on auto-pilot, they had become lost souls walking a forced path that was paved for them. Should they stray, they were reprimanded and corrected. Unfeeling bodies. Dark was the reality in which they remained puppets of an industry they no longer acknowledged. Taekwoon’s trembling fingers held onto Hongbin’s shirt, finger tips sinking into the fabric as he held onto the one thing that was still good. In turn, Hongbin’s hand travelled back up Taekwoon’s face, urging him to lift his head. Once he did, Taekwoon was witness to the tears of equal despair that welled up in his lover’s eyes. He understood. _They_ understood. A sad smile was thrown his way, before Hongbin slowly bent down. And with a tenderness that should be quite foreign to Hongbin, the man pressed his lips to the crown of Taekwoon’s head. 

**Author's Note:**

> I poured all my frustrations over writer's block, and real life issues, into this piece. It was an unexpected fic, but amazing therapy. Thank you for reading ♥


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